Malfunction
by Artisan Kloa
Summary: Not all newcomers are bad news, but sometimes mistakes can happen. A misunderstanding can change a lot.
1. Chapter 1

Is It Really A Malfunction?

A Crossover Fanfiction

My Life as a Teenage Robot and Pokemon

Author's Note: Those who know me offline, know that I am just about obsessed with pokemon. While I mainly focus on the video game area of the site, I thought I'd try my hand at a Cartoon fic for once. No, this does not follow the Pokemon Anime, more along the lines of the games.

Disclaimer: I do not own any pokemon, character, or place seen in this fictional piece. I only own my OC and his pokemon. Cameos of other people's characters may be seen, and they will be given credit at the beginnings of the chapters they are seen.

Any likenesses to any people fictional or real, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

Summary: When a newcomer to Tremorton causes a ruckus, Jenny finds that dealing with aliens was easy in comparison to dealing with the boy called 'Surma'.

CHAPTER PROLOGUE: A WIND OF CHANGE

The gentle breeze on the wind, the scent of blooming wildflowers and grass and pine whispering along with it; nothing could quite beat the feeling of being on the open road. Even if one's feet hurt quite badly after a few hours of walking.

But the gentle buzzing hum of bicycle treads over the ground meant that Surma Delani didn't quite have to deal with that for a while. Perched in the basket of the bicycle was a smallish creature, no more than a foot tall, and rather egg-like.

Well, egg-like in the sense that it was encased in an eggshell speckled with red and blue triangles, which protected most of the creature. A spiked head came from the top, and it had a small face. Beady black eyes, wide with youth, looked around at the scenery as it zipped by, a smile on its face. It's arms and legs stubby and small, more like nubs than anything else.

It sat back, looking quite content with letting the young lad do all the work. Surma had been what was called a 'Pokemon Trainer' for precisely two years, eleven months, three weeks, and six days. He had struggled with not having the admiration that his brothers had for many a year before he could start his own 'journey to adulthood' as it was often called.

It'd been hard to get his starting pokemon, a young Torchic, to even follow him. It was rather displeased with having this novice as a trainer, so it refused to listen to him. In the end, his eldest brother, Gregory, decided to raise it. He gave to Surma in exchange, a strange pokemon which was called Magnemite. Surma was overjoyed to have the strange magnet-like pokemon, for it actually listened to him. He dubbed it 'Minimite', for it was very small for a Magnemite, or so Gregory had told him.

And so his journey had begun…

But that was before he figured out that pokemon training was not as easy as first depicted in stories and legends. It was hard work. And he found that out the hard way when Minimite and he encountered their first fire-type opponent. It'd been a cocky trainer with a Slugma. The molten slug was possessing an ability he'd never encountered before, called Flame Body… which inflicted a nasty burn on Minimite when he'd struck with a Tackle.

That was the day when he realized, he was not just doing this journey for himself. He was traveling for Minimite's sake as well. Surma had vowed from hat day hence that all the pokemon he would capture were his friends. And so he did, journeying far from his hometown of Oldale.

It'd been when he was in Vermillion that he'd learned of a ferry going to a place called 'America'. Surma had jumped at the chance to visit someplace new, for he'd already traveled to places where pokemon thrived. In America, there was said to be no pokemon at all, similar to the Orre region.

And now, deep in American lands… he found himself quite lost and without aid. While no pokemon thrived, they were there in hiding. He found that out the hard way when he'd stepped on an Oddish that'd been sleeping with it's leafy top aboveground, disguised as grass.

It'd been enraged, casting up a dense cloud of poison, striking one of his newer pokemon friends hard. Unable to help, he was currently rushing blindly to what he hoped was a town with a decent hospital, his suffering friend tucked away in its ball, so it would be spared from any further damage.

It was nightfall before he saw the lights of a new town. He breathed a sigh of relief, exhausted from riding the bike all day. But as he zipped into the quiet town, Surma was unaware of the trouble he would unintentionally cause in the days that come.

Author's End Note: Yes, I know this chapter was mostly focused on Surma, but I wanted people to get a feel for the guy, before I get into the thicket of the story. He does not have a full team of six, instead having five pokemon, As to what they are, you'll have to be patient… you'll see them somewhere around chapter two. You already know two of them.


	2. Chapter 2

Malfunction

Author's Note: Now we start the story, as Surma tries his best to adjust to a town he's never been to… especially after what happens when he takes a stroll.

Disclaimer: I only own Surma and his pokemon, for I have not the millions of dollars necessary to buy either Pokemon OR My Life as a Teenage Robot. Sadness.

CHAPTER ONE: A DAY UNLIKE ANY OTHER

Surma looked around the stale, sterile hospital room, quite convinced that it was some form of American torture. While the doctors and nurses had taken him and his poisoned pokemon, they had yet to tell him if she was alright. He hoped the poor thing was, she was the latest addition to his team, only just received in Celadon City, from the Game Corner.

In his arms, the young Togepi looked at the face of the worried human, curious as to why the young man was so upset. He made a soft trilling noise, concerned. Surma looked down at it, giving a hesitant smile,

"I'm just worried about Z', Tagopi. You shouldn't worry over it, I'm sure she'll be fine." He said, gently ruffling the soft spikes on the spike-ball pokemon's head. Though, he could have been speaking French to the baby for all it understood. But it caught the hopeful tone and let out a louder, cheerful trilling noise.

Surma smiled at the young pokemon, glad that it was free from the painful worry that he was now facing. However, it wasn't long before a doctor came out, removing a pair of rubber gloves. She beckoned him over, and he was quick to leap to his feet to obey, little Tagopi bouncing along behind him in the toddling, bounce-like gait that only a togepi could possess.

The young doctor took in the boy's hopeful, but worried expression. She knew that the boy had been there all night, and it was nearing ten forty-five in the morning now. She took a deep breath, not noticing that the egglike thing at his feet - unidentifiable to her and unimportant – had collided with his leg and was now sitting at his heels, and began to tell him the news about his pokemon, who he called by shorthand, 'Z'.

"Well young man – Surma? Okay, Surma, your 'Z' is fine. It was hard figuring out exactly how to treat it, what with the fact that this is a technically HUMAN hospital, and we had to figure out how to work with a species we do not technically see, but we did give it an antivenin used normally for treating people after they've inhaled pesticides. It seems to be completely recovered from what we can tell, and its cleared to be taken back home with you, or continue traveling with you, or whatever it is you're doing other than being in school." She said, standing aside to let his perfectly healthy pokemon tackle him to the ground in apparent joy. Surma was happy enough, holding the little pokemon tightly to himself; overjoyed at the fact that Z was okay. Z let out cheerful sounding high-pitched squeals, snuggling against her trainer's belly.

Surma smiled, then looked at the doctor with an expression of extreme gratitude. "I cannot thank you enough, doctor. Z's okay because of you and your … uhm… colleagues. Uhm, I've never really been to school for anything other than my profession, but I guess things are different here in America, right?" he said, smiling, unaware of the faint look of shock on the doctor's face. "Well, I suppose that I'll get on my way, stock up on supplies for the road, right, Z? Don't want something like this to happen again." He said with a smile, walking out, the doctor now openly expressing shock and frozen with disbelief as he walked out the glass doors and down the sidewalk. It was only five minutes later that she could finally snap out of it long enough to mutter, "You have to pay…"

Surma, meanwhile, was exploring this new town, not quite ready to leave the quaint little place. He'd recalled Z and Tagopi to their pokeballs, believing that they would benefit more from being in there and taking a snooze rather than out and about, getting overexcited. Surma shuddered at the thought of either of those two getting a little too excited, especially with Tagopi's developing techniques.

Passing by what seemed to be a small diner, he paused to look at the building, squinting as he realized that the storefront reminded him of the silly masked Zigzagoons that lived near his hometown, and smiled. He was about to enter, when a firm, strong hand clamped on his shoulder. He looked up with a fairly confused expression at the surly face of a rotund, red-faced police officer.

"Is there a problem, sir?" he asked, curious.

"Yeah, kid. If you're gonna skip school, at least don't go to a popular hangout." The rough American accented policeman stated, raising an eyebrow.

"Skip … school?" Surma repeated, not understanding as the cop wheeled him about and pushed him into a small vehicle. Surma wasn't comprehending what was going on, and understood even less when the vehicle sped to a gray-colored building that looked less than enjoyable with a sign labeling it as 'Tremorton High School'.

Surma found himself lightly touching the pokeballs in his inner jacket pockets, for reassurance as, less than an hour, two confusing lectures, and about three million odd looks from varying students of the school later, he was at the front of a class, a wild-eyed expression similar to a cornered buneary on his face. He felt like running as the teacher at the front of the room showed him to a seat next to a red-headed boy wearing a pair of khaki pants, a black vest and a white-long sleeved shirt called 'Bret' or something like that. Some American name that Surma had no real interest in learning. He was more concerned about clearing up this entire situation. But not a single adult had listened to him, or interrupted him when he tried to explain his presence in the town. Surma was finding himself regretting the decision to recall his pokemon, or even not leaving when he had the opportunity.

Several times he heard his name being called on, but whatever they were talking about was so over his head, that he couldn't understand whatever was asked of him. But as a strange ringing from the ceiling sounded, Surma found that apparently that signaled switching to another class or as he found out when the red-head took hold of his wrist, thankfully leading him to a cafeterium of sorts and over to a table with something that entirely freaked him out.

And it was the sight of a strange humanoid robot or pokemon of some sort that had the sixteen year old trainer screaming in confusion. The surrealism of the entire situation finally catching up to him as he began to yell at the red-head to explain what was going on, not realizing that he'd switched from his second-language of English to his home-language of Hoenn-dialect Japanese. It was not the suave-est or smoothest of decisions, as he ranted and raved, flailing his arms and walking in circles around the red-head, freaked out of his mind.

The red-head turned to look at the robot-thing whatever it was, seemingly for assistance. It shrugged, listening to what Surma was saying before relaying what he was saying to the male in English. This caught Surma's attention and he pointed at the thing, noting it was female-like in appearance and mostly white with blue accentation to its 'clothing' and 'hair'.

"AND WHAT IS THAT THING! IS IT A POKEMON? AN ANDROID? A TRANSLATOR!" he screeched at Bret, or whatever his name was. This seemed to insult the … thing, and while he felt guilty, he was having something of a rough day, going on about… a half hour of sleep.

"Hey, that's no way to talk about Jenny, you know. You could stand to be a little politer, kid." Bret snapped at him, crossing his arms. Surma's eyes bugged out.

"It has a name? So it's a pokemon?" he asked, trying to bring the 'conversation' into the realm of something he was familiar with. However, the robot-pokemon thing didn't seem to keen on that, correcting him with a feminine voice.

"I'm Jenny, and I'm not a … whatever it was you said— I'm a robot." She said, gently but with a hint of indignance in her tone.

"Well, at least we're not the only ones to realize your … oddity, Jennifer." The snooty, snobbish voice made Surma turn. Behind him were two girls, radically different but very similar in dress, behind him. One was a cocoa-skinned girl with buck teeth, expensive looking dress, and a haughty expression, taller than her companion; who was cream-skinned, but black-haired like the other, with heavy rings of eyeliner on her eyes. She had a fiercer air about her than the other one, much more intimidating, though Surma wasn't cowed. He'd encountered scarier people and pokemon on his travels than some diminutive American. He noted that her style of clothing was just as expensive, and in the same color-scheme, as the other.

"And who are you?" he asked, turning and crossing his arms. The fingertips of his left hand brushed against the pokeball in his jacket pocket, these girls had the same expressions as challengers he'd faced before. Though, he doubted that they had pokemon.

The taller one looked shocked that he'd even dared to ask that question, the other looking somewhat enraged, before their expressions cooled into a mask of geniality. "Why we're the Crust Cousins, I am Brittany and this is my cousin, Tiffany." The cocoa-skinned 'Brittany' intoned in an imperial way. Tiffany merely stood there quietly during the introduction.

"So what, y'all new here or some'in?" she demanded once her cousin had stopped.

"More like, a case of mistaken identity. I'm merely a traveler passing through your town. Some of your law enforcement believed me to be … skipping… I believe he put it." Surma returned with equal venom. "Why do you ask? Are you going to make something of it?"

Tiffany looked ready to punch him, or would have, if the robot behind him hadn't spoken up after a long silence. "Well, if you're just traveling, where are you from?" it seemed 'her' curiosity had gotten the better of her.

Surma turned to look at her, "Oldale Town, Hoenn Region." He replied in a much gentler tone. He didn't really think of her as a threat, which was ironic, considering that apart from harsh words, the two females that he'd just conversed with, were harmless. And he was not aware that the fem-robot was capable of killing him multiple times over.

"Well, nice to meet you then. I never got your name, what is it?" she pressed, seemingly interested in him. Surma blinked, wondering the harm in telling her.

"Surma. Surma Delani." He replied, bowing lightly in politeness, as was his custom. As he did, the unthinkable happened.

A bright light accompanied by a loud pop-cracking noise announcing that one of his pokemon had let itself out of its ball unceremoniously. Tagopi had woken up from its nap and was NOT about to stay in that ball any second longer, no matter how comfortable the holograms could be.

Surma blanched, not noticing that the spike-ball was drawing awwww's of affection from the females in the large room, who had been watching the scene with the eyes of hungry poochyena. And then Tagopi's large eyes welled up with tears and Surma had two seconds to cover his ears before the little egg-like being emitted such powerful screeches that even the robot looked stunned at the fact that it could produce such a loud, piercing noise.

Surma scrambled to find the egg's pokeball, and upon failing to find it within five seconds, he simply picked Tagopi up, trying to calm him down. As fast as the Crust Cousins had appeared, they'd vanished, Surma noticed as he ran outside as fast as his legs could take him, fully aware that his cheeks were bright red from embarrassment. He had about a minute to wait before he could calm the baby pokemon enough to fix up some lunch for it, long enough that the egg was shooting him hungry looks and for him to feel incredibly guilty for not remembering.

He didn't really acknowledge the red-head, or the robotic whatsit as they came outside with concerned expressions, more focused on fixing up Tagopi some lunch. He mentally calculated, when was the last time his other pokemon had eaten? Last night, he remembered that. And some of them were artificial so they didn't technically need food.

As he placed the bowlful of mashed up, softish pokemon food to the little togepi for lunch, he cast a glance at the two that'd followed him. "I bet you think I'm odd, yes? Or something to ogle? Well get out of here, I'm not some sideshow for you to look at, and neither is my pokemon, so get away from me." He snapped, turning to eat his own lunch, a sandwich he'd made on the spot from some leftover non-perishables.

The robot had what could be interpreted as a look of understanding and hurt at the same time. He'd never known that a robot could do that. He looked at her for a moment longer, then swallowed the bite of sandwich he'd taken.

"…Jenny was it?" Surma asked, getting a nod in reply. "I… might have been a little harsh with you. I … apologize." He said, putting down the sandwhich, not caring if Tagopi stole it, now that the egg had finished it's lunch.

Surma took a deep breath. "America is a weird place…" he muttered.

Author's End Notes: Wow, this chapter is long. I'm just saying that now, since I believe this to be the longest chapter I've ever written. Next chapter I get right into the plot, which might make it onto the webs tonight if you're extremely lucky, or tomorrow.


End file.
